


The Heat of 33'

by Zenn



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: "Beat the Heat" pun, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Based off cute art, Blushing Steve Rogers, Fluff, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pinterest Prompt (sorta), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Prompt Fic, Slight Internalized Homophobia, enjoy, everything is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenn/pseuds/Zenn
Summary: What starts as an unbearably hot Summer afternoon quickly turns into anembarrassinglyhot Summer afternoon when two Brooklyn boys have their secrets revealed and their true feelings come to light.





	The Heat of 33'

It was late July when the dreaded heat wave started, and it just didn’t stop.

 

It had been a summer like no other Bucky had experienced in his short sixteen years of life. He had been staying at the Rogers residence for the last week since the hospital had Mrs. Rogers working overtime due to all the people coming in with heat stroke. That was the one way in which the heat was a blessing, it meant Mrs. Rogers was bringing in more money, but she didn’t want Stevie staying alone in the apartment and that’s where Bucky came in.

 

Bucky was used to staying with Steve when Mrs. Rogers was busy at the hospital so he didn’t mind it at all, in fact, he enjoyed spending time with Steve quite a bit. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t like being coddled as he called it but Bucky knew that he enjoyed the company, almost as much as Bucky himself did.

 

The heat gets to Steve more than it gets to Bucky, his never-ending list of ailments was affected no matter the weather, but at least it wasn’t as bad as Wintertime. Mrs. Rogers works frequent shifts in the Winter, barely having time to come home and take a nap before she has to get back to the hospital, so Bucky spends most of the Winter staying at their apartment instead of his own. Steve was the worst in the Winter, half the time he was sick with the flu and the other half with a cold.

 

Last year his body decided to mix it up and give Steve a lengthy bout of pneumonia. Bucky refused to go to school for nearly a week, instead of sitting by Steve’s bedside, hoping his presence alone would cure him faster. And if he spent his nights wrapped around Steve providing much-needed body warmth neither one mentioned it come morning.

 

Steve had pulled through that just like he pulled through everything else, that was just the Steve Rogers way. He would get this look in his eye, a look that secretly had Bucky melting on the inside, and he would just decide to not be sick anymore. And just like that in a couple days, he would be back to his normal self, the problem is his normal self was still asthma-ridden, bony, and a mouthy little shit which meant he was more susceptible than most to coughing fits, broken bones, and a fist or two to the face.

 

Summertime was pretty bad too though. Steve had allergies to nearly everything and asthma to back it up, add the unbearable heat on top of that and Steve was pretty useless—or at least he should be. Bucky didn’t have allergies, past the slight reaction he got to all the damn cotton floating around like a snowstorm, but that didn’t stop him from complaining. But hey, who could blame him with _this heat?_

 

Steve, that’s who.

 

Steve might have more to complain about but he was ever the optimist, no matter the situation he would find an upside, a silver lining, a positive perspective. Bucky was quite the opposite, he was a complainer, a pessimist by nature, always finding the negative in the things around him. Maybe that’s why they worked so well together, Steve showed him the good life had to offer and Bucky kept him out of too much trouble with his unfailing faith in humanity.

 

Looking at them they made an odd pair but Bucky had never been one to judge a book by its cover, his mama raised him better than that. Besides, Bucky personally thought Steve was the most beautiful person he ever did see—inside and out. Not that he could ever tell anyone that, not even Steve, especially not Steve. Not that Steve had a problem with people who were gay, quite the opposite, in fact just last week he stood up for a guy who was getting beaten within an inch of his life behind Ms. O’Malley’s bakery—at the price of a swollen lip and a black eye on Steve’s part, but that was Steve for you, always standing up for the little guy. So, Bucky knew that he had no quarrels with guys who liked guys—or girls who liked girls—just the same as Bucky knew that Steve himself didn’t like guys.

 

And there was no reason Steve ever needed to know that _Bucky_ liked guys in that way. Everyone on this side of the Mississippi knew Bucky Barnes: skirt chaser, lady’s man, all around charmer. He had a certain way about him whether it be his easy smile, his shining eyes, or the confidence that came off him in waves; the girls always flocked to him. And he wasn’t complaining, boobs were great and all, some of the girls he’d been with were nice to talk to—some were even nice to fool around with—but at the end of the night his thoughts always wandered back to blonde hair and blue eyes.

 

Steve lets out a huge sneeze, drawing Bucky back into the present. Bucky reaches over to the coffee table, absentmindedly passing Steve a tissue. He barely registers the mumbled “thanks buck” as Steve rubs at his runny nose. After a few more sniffles Steve goes back to sketching on his notebook and Bucky settles back against him.

 

Bucky listens to the rhythmic scratch of Steve’s charcoal pencil as he watches sweat bead up and slowly run down his own bare chest. The Rogers’ apartment doesn’t have A/C, the cost of such a commodity was too high, so Bucky had stripped his shirt off and rolled his pants up long ago. Steve, on the other hand, was a bit more self-conscious of his body and still had his long sleeve button up on, although from Bucky’s place pressed up against his back he could feel the sweat dripping down him as well.

 

“Stevie! It’s too hot…” Bucky whines, slumping farther down onto the hardwood floor and pressing himself harder into Steve’s back, causing Steve to huff in irritation from the added weight.

 

“Uh huh…” Steve replies distractedly, still intently focused on his sketch.

 

Too focused, Bucky decides. Well, one way to change that.

 

“MAKE IT STOP!!” Bucky whines louder this time, sounding uncannily like his little sister Becca.

 

Steve barely glances over his shoulder to mutter, “Shut up Bucky” before turning his attention back to his notebook.

 

Bucky waits a moment, letting Steve get back into the rhythm of his sketching before opening his mouth again.

 

“MAKE ME-” he practically shouts, though he is cut off mid-sentence as Steve quickly moves causing Bucky to fall backward onto the floor with a thump.

 

Bucky doesn’t have time to think of a witty remark or snide comment about Steve letting him fall before Steve is pressing his lips firmly into Bucky’s from his vantage point above him. Bucky flails a little on the ground before closing his eyes and getting lost in the sensation of Steve’s lips on his. Before he has time to truly process what is going on Steve pulls back and steadies himself on the floor with both hands. Both boys are breathing hard and Bucky is now sporting a head-to-toe flush that has nothing to do with the heat.

 

Bucky sits up slowly and peers over his shoulder to see Steve making tentative eye contact with him, notebook all but forgotten on the floor beside him. After a few moments of awkward and somewhat tense silence, Bucky curls his lips into his signature smirk as he crawls on his hands and knees towards Steve.

 

“It’s still too hot…” he purrs, looking directly into Steve’s beautiful blue eyes.

 

Steve responds by knocking the breath out of Bucky for the third time that day.

 

Bucky is way to focused on the flush in Steve’s cheeks to ever have a chance of seeing the notebook coming. In a flash Steve grabs his sketchbook from the floor and nails Bucky directly in the face, a satisfying _crunch_ ringing through the apartment upon impact.

 

“What the fuck Rogers,” Bucky yells, holding his bloody nose.

 

“Language,” Steve says dumbly, looking at Bucky in disbelief.

 

“Langua- Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell was that for?” Bucky gets up from the floor to go search the kitchen for a rag.

 

When he comes back Steve is sitting in the same spot with the same look of disbelief plastered to his stupid face.

 

“Is your nose okay?” He asks with his stupid voice, with that stupid flush on his face, and a stupid pout to his stupidly perfect lips.

 

“Do I look okay to ya, pal?” Bucky pulls the towel away, grimacing at the thick red blood that now taints Mrs. Rogers white washcloth.

 

“I’m sorry. But it was your fault…” Steve trails off, looking at the floor like he wants to sink into it.

 

“My fault? My fault? Did you hit your head while I was in the kitchen because I’m pretty sure it was _you_ who hit _me_ with a book in the face.”

 

“Yeah, well only cause _you_ used that...that voice on me!” Steve is standing now, looking indigent and every bit the boy Bucky fell in love with all those years ago. But Bucky is every bit as stubborn as Steve and isn’t about to back down from the challenging look in his eyes.

 

“What the hell does that mean, Stevie? My voice caused ya to hit me in the face, is that it,” Bucky asks getting right into Steve’s face, bloodied cloth forgotten on the floor.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says a little breathless, still looking into Bucky’s eyes with that damn indignation.

 

“Yeah,” Steve starts again confidence creeping back into his tone, “you know exactly what that voice of yours does to all the dames! And, and you have no right to just use it on me. That’s not fair!”

 

“Oh! Oh, that’s not fair? Is that right?” Bucky’s voice oozes just as much indignation as Steve’s does, maybe even more.

 

“Well in that case.” He continues to creep into Steve’s personal space causing Steve to walk backward as Bucky talks. “You have no right to kiss me out of nowhere.”

 

Steve flushes and ducks his head causing Bucky to grin in satisfaction, but as quickly as Steve’s falter in confidence had appeared, it vanishes. Steve looks back up and directly into Bucky’s eyes, renewed determination seeping out of him.

 

“Well, you have no right to walk around my place complaining about how _hot you are_ all the goddamn time.”

 

Bucky opens his mouth to correct Steve’s language since he is oh so fond of correcting Bucky’s but Steve pokes Bucky in the chest causing his mouth to go completely dry.

 

“And then,” Steve yells undeterred, “and then you have the audacity, the nerve, to walk around without a shirt on. You and your stupid glistening abs are a big distraction, pal. So yeah, you brought this on yourself.”

 

Bucky stares at Steve dumbfounded, at a loss for words, a first in his life. But then Rogers gets that look in his eye like he knows he just won and well, Bucky can’t have that.

 

“Oh yeah Rogers, you got a problem with my _glistening abs_ ?” Bucky makes a point of flexing just a little bit before continuing, reveling in the way Steve tracks the motion. “Well how about how you walk around here with your pants that are always a little too tight, showing off that perfect little ass of yours? Or the way you chew your lip when you _know_ I’m looking? Or, or the way your hair looks when you’ve just woken up and all I wanna do is run my hands through it?”

 

As Bucky rambles on he keeps walking into Steve causing Steve to back up until his foot lands on the discarded sketchbook from earlier causing him to fall backward onto the floor with a _thump_!

 

“Shit Stevie! You okay?” Bucky rushes over to Steve’s side, argument completely forgotten.

 

“I’m fine, Buck. Stop fussing over me,” Steve mutters pushing Bucky’s probing hands away.

 

“Okay, here let me grab your sketchbook.”

 

Before Steve can argue Bucky reaches over to grab the book and the papers that had fallen out and scattered over the floor.

 

“Stevie..?” Bucky questions, rifling through the numerous pages of charcoal sketches.

 

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve already knows what is coming but some naive part of him wants to hang on to the belief that Bucky isn’t looking at the sketches Steve had worked so hard to keep hidden for so many years.

 

“What are these?” Bucky turns some of the pages over, showing them to Steve like Steve wasn’t the one who drew them, like they both don’t already know exactly what is on those pages.

 

“My drawings,” Is all Steve can get out before his face flushes in shame and he averts his gaze to the floor, awaiting the inevitable.

 

Bucky traces a pair of lifelike lips drawn in charcoal, his lips drawn in charcoal to be exact. He flips to another page where he finds a stunning drawing of himself smoking a cigarette leaned up against the railing of their apartment balcony. The page after that he is greeted with yet another drawing, this one is in color from when Bucky stole a pack of colored pencils from Mr. Hibbings’ store; it depicts Bucky staring up at the fireworks arms slung around a short, faceless figure—Steve still struggled to draw himself. Flipping through the sketchbook Bucky finds the pages are filled with him, only him, from detailed close-ups of his eyes to big scenes with him in a crowd of other people; yet no matter the drawing he is the center of it all. Bucky stops flipping as he finds a page with a familiar scene splayed out in beautiful charcoal strokes. Bucky lies against a faceless figure, shirtless and face scrunched up in annoyance, a speech bubble above his head reads: _Stevie! It’s too hot…_

 

Bucky looks up from the pages splayed out in his lap grin in place, only to find Steve morosely staring down at the floor reminding Bucky of a kicked puppy.

 

“Stevie, hey, what’s the matter?” Bucky discards the heap of papers in favor of curling around Steve’s back but when Steve shies away from his touch he moves around to his front and cups his chin forcing Steve to look him in the eyes.

 

“Did you get hurt when you fell, Stevie? Tell me the truth.” Bucky’s voice is stern yet concerned as he soothingly rubs circles onto Steve’s cheek with his thumb.

 

“God damn it, Buck, no!”

 

“Well then what is it, punk?”

 

Instead of answering Steve looks petulantly over at the mess of papers depicting his biggest secret. Bucky follows his gaze scoffing at the papers before turning his attention back to a very serious looking Steve.

 

“Oh come on Stevie, you can’t be serious. You’re mad I saw your drawings?”

 

It’s Steve’s turn to scoff as he finally makes eye contact with Bucky, indignation back in every feature of his scrawny frame.

 

“They’re not just _drawings_ , Buck,” Steve argues flailing his arms in the direction of the papers, “they’re drawings of _you_.”

 

“Well, yeah pal, I kinda figured that one out.” Steve punches him in the arm but he looks less scandalized and more himself now, so Bucky counts it as a win.

 

“I mean, besides, you _did_ just _kiss me_ , so finding your collection of obsessive drawings of my glorious self is hardly anything in comparison.”

 

Bucky’s sly smirk has found its way back to his face as he delights in the way Steve’s blush has returned to his cheeks.

 

“So, you mean you’re not mad?”

 

Bucky contemplates letting Steve worry about that a bit longer seeing as he had just hit him in the face ten minutes ago, but he figures he would rather find out just how far Stevie’s blush goes.

 

“Well,” he starts, waiting until Steve makes eye contact to continue, “I am a little mad… but I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky’s stupidity but then Bucky is crawling over him and whispering huskily into his ear and well, Steve doesn’t do much thinking after that.

 

***

 

The boys are already up by the time Mrs. Rogers walks in the front door, returning from her late shift at the hospital.

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky chirps from his place on the couch.

 

“Mornin’ ma,” Steve yawns from the other side of the couch, eyes never leaving his sketchbook.

 

“Oh, good morning, you boys are up early. And Bucky, darling, I told you to call me Sarah.”

 

“At least he’s moved on from ma’am,” Steve mumbles, Bucky shoving him with his foot in retaliation.

 

“How would you boys like some breakfast,” Sarah asks, oblivious to the quiet quarreling taking place on the couch.

 

“I would love some Sarah,” Bucky replies as he dodges a pillow.

 

“I hope you boys were alright in this heat,” Sarah says as she moves around the kitchen putting bacon on the griddle and filling the kettle with water.

 

“Oh we found a way to _beat_ the heat, don’t you worry.”

 

Sarah’s back is turned or she would see the way Steve’s whole face turns tomato red as he tries to break Bucky’s nose with his sketchbook for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

 

Both boys are too distracted trying to smother each other with pillows to notice when Sarah nearly trips over something in the kitchen. She bends over and examines the object before turning to the two boys.

 

"James, Steven, why is there a bloody rag on the floor?"

 

Both boys freeze on the couch turning to look at each other, Steve gets that damn mischevious look in his eye and

 

"It's Bucky's fault!"


End file.
